


A Little Stocking Filler

by LateStarter58



Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 00:31:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17498216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateStarter58/pseuds/LateStarter58
Summary: Another homecoming for Tom to Livvy, this time to some wonderful news.





	A Little Stocking Filler

My man.

Landed. He was on his way to me. We’d been texting since his flight took off from LAX – what a time to be alive!  – signal and my work permitting. He’d been gone for eight weeks. Two moons. I had time to prepare for today but somehow I still didn’t feel entirely ready. Now he was nearly home at last. I was just praying I could hold on to my surprise until Christmas morning.

In fact, I was broadcasting at the time he landed at Heathrow, so I couldn’t meet him. No longer being freelance has some disadvantages, but I wouldn’t really want to give up this job now. What serious music journalist wouldn’t want to work for Radio 3? But it did mean that on this occasion Tom and I had to forgo the _Love Actually_ moment in Arrivals.  Not to worry; I’m sure Faisal gave him a lovely cuddle. What I did mind was that he had to go home to an empty house. After two months on the other side of the world, it must have been a bit of a disappointment, even if he would never say that.

Marcus, my producer, knew what was happening and the second the red light went out he came into the studio, hugged me and wished me “ _Merry Christmas”_ with a slightly sardonic expression. Moments later I was through the door and heading for the exit. I hailed a cab on Portland Place (fortunately there are always plenty) and settled back in the seat for the ride north.

I quickly got lost in thought. I was very tired; a bloody nuisance, especially at this time of year when there is so much to organise. We were travelling to East Anglia the next day to spend Christmas Eve and Day with Tom’s family, then over to Mum’s on Boxing Day. Sitting in the cab, my eyes drifting shut while the driver babbled on about the traffic and the holidays, I was dreading some of it.

This would be the first one without Dad: that was the hardest thing. I’d wanted to go to be with Mum, but she had insisted that we went to Diana’s, while she would spend the day with my Aunty Greta, who is also widowed. She argued, with her usual logic, that they would be the best company for each other and she didn’t want to make Tom and me miserable when there was no need. Of course, I wanted to overrule her, but she was implacable.

And Diana was being amazing. _Of course_. She understood and was going out of her way to be kind and to help me. It wasn’t being with her and the others I dreaded, it was knowing that Dad was gone, and not seeing him at Christmas would bring that home really hard. But I was trying to console myself with the fact that there were plenty of reasons for me to look forward, and not to dwell on his absence too much. For one thing, we had a wedding to plan, and this would be chance to get together with the Hiddleston girls to discuss it.

Somehow (probably because I was extremely excited) I managed to stave off sleep until the cab drew up outside our house, and I dragged my weary bones inside. Tom had been back less than thirty minutes, but he had been around and switched on all the fairy lights so the place looked as welcoming as I had ever seen it. Best of all, there he was in the doorway: my man. Two glasses of champagne on the table; Lucia was going mad in the background. So was I, but for much better reasons. I think I ran and jumped into his arms; I do know we kissed and held each other without speaking for a long, long time.

I nearly told him then. It almost slipped out the next morning, too, when I woke up to find myself wrapped tight in his embrace, his breath washing over my neck and his soft snores rumbling through my body. I had to bite my tongue when, over breakfast, he asked me how I was, because I know I looked tired. I managed to come up with a convincing explanation: work was busy and I had been missing him and the time of year and _blah, blah…_

So yes, I was able to wait until a soft knock on the door woke us on Christmas morning, snuggled in the lovely bed at Diana’s Suffolk retreat. Cups of tea placed just outside our door with the little stockings she had lovingly prepared for us. Still in bed, we opened our treats and giggled at the silly bobble hats we would be expected to wear on the traditional morning walk with the dogs. As Tom sipped his tea, I looked at him and my love bubbled up in my chest once again. The beautiful, kind man I had almost let slip; the man who had brought light and warmth and love back into my life. The person who had supported me through hard times and good, and with whom I wanted to be, forever.

“I have a little extra something for you, before we join the others.” I tried not to smile too much. I had rehearsed this speech a hundred times, but even alone I never got to the end without crying.

“Oh yes?” He turned towards me, his face childlike with expectation.

“Something’s happened, Tom. You were there, actually, as it happened right before you left, but I wanted us to talk about it face to face,” Now his expression showed more concern. “I know I probably should have spoken to you about this before, but after all that happened, I didn’t want to say something and then…”

My miscarriage earlier in the year had made us more cautious, and then my Dad died and our needs seemed less important for a while. I watched his expression morph into hope, and was moved by how he tried to control it, still careful, not wanting to hurt me until he had heard me out. I nodded, smiling more broadly now.

“I’m pregnant, Thomas. Ten weeks tomorrow.” Tears began to fall down his cheeks. “I had a scan when you were flying from Hawaii to LA, and everything looks OK so far.”

He kissed me then, soft and slow. It was salty from his tears, which mingled with mine. No words, no need for them.

******

Christmases change as you age, inevitably. When you are a child, it is all magic and excitement. As an adult, it can, on occasion, seem to be all work and stress. It reflects your life at the time, I suppose. That second one with Tom was bittersweet but so delightful. We had much to celebrate, and despite the sadness, the future was shining brightly and calling us into the coming year.

Weddings and babies: two of my favourite things.


End file.
